


Even When We're Fire

by atetheredmind



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A Dream of Spring, Cunnilingus, Disney ending, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pregnant Sex, SUCK IT, also jon's a dragon rider, even the dragons live, kinda angsty to start, set after the war for the dawn, titty sucking, yes jon and dany live and rule together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 02:14:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14906462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atetheredmind/pseuds/atetheredmind
Summary: “We haven’t discussed names yet,” she mused.“Aye. We’ve been a little preoccupied,” he said and felt more than saw her wry smile in response. “What do you think it’ll be? A boy or a girl?”Daenerys hummed in thought, the sound a gentle vibration on his cheek. “A girl this time.”After the war, Jon and Daenerys grapple with how to move on from the ashes, together.





	Even When We're Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Just a smutty, bittersweet one-shot written for Jonerys Week 2018, "A Dream of Spring" on tumblr. No real rhyme or reason to this piece, other than the prompt was castle sex and I guess I had to find a way to make it a little angsty.

Jon found Daenerys in their bedchambers, exactly where her handmaidens had told him she would be. They’d been caught unprepared by her arrival and had been instructed to leave her be, they’d told him. When he approached their chambers, he was mildly surprised to find the door was open.

He paused in the doorway to observe her, for the moment undetected. Her face turned to the window, Daenerys sat perched on the edge of the bed, her back to him and a heavy cloak clutched in her lap.

Even without a closer look, he knew it was the bride’s cloak he’d draped over her shoulders the day they’d wed in the godswood at Winterfell. She’d once told him that she liked to wrap herself in it when she needed comfort and he wasn’t readily available.

“I thought you’d be here.” He spoke gently, mindful of startling her, but she  turned her head toward him expectantly. Perhaps she’d known he’d come for her.

“I suppose Rhaegal brought you.”

Dipping his chin in acknowledgement, Jon stepped into the room. “Aye. He goes where his mother goes.” He’d had a feeling she’d returned to Dragonstone, but failing his intuition, it helped that he had a dragon to steer him in the right direction.

At that, Daenerys gave him a weak smile. When he circled the bed to stand before her, the smile slipped. She dropped her gaze, her expression troubled. “I’m sorry. It was...unqueenly of me to take off like that.”

“I think only the queen can determine what’s unqueenly,” he said lightly. She looked up, her eyes softening.

“And her king,” she returned, just as fondly. She gathered the cloak closer to her chest, and he waited, knowing she would explain without his prodding why she’d taken Drogon and disappeared from King’s Landing without a word to anyone. He didn’t have to wait long. Daenerys sighed, and when she spoke again, her voice was thick with tears.

“It was too much. All the dead…” She trailed off before finding the thread, bringing her gaze to his. “Clearing out the bodies from King’s Landing. I saw the children, Jon. So many dead children. Some rotted, some only bones. Some burned—I couldn’t— ”

The words caught in her throat on a wet, glottal hitch, and she lifted the cloak to bury her face into the fur. Jon went to her then, sitting down on the bed beside her, his arm easing around her to turn her into his chest. She didn’t need to finish, didn’t need to paint a picture for him with her words. The image of the dead was burned into his mind, too. A festering brand he was never like to forget, one that would never completely heal.

“It’s not your fault, Dany,” he said somberly. “It was likely the wildfire.”

She shook her head, face still hidden in the cloak and his chest. Her words were muffled and clogged with despair. “Some of it. And some of it could’ve been Drogon. Or...or Viserion.”

Nose pressed to the crown of her head, he took a deep breath. She smelled of sweat and ash, but under that, he found the familiar scent of  _her_. Mint and some exotic Essosi herb he’d never learned the name of. “You did what you had to do to stop him.  _We_  did what we had to do. They were already dead, Dany. Cersei doomed them all, and the Night King turned them. We had no choice. We saved who we could.”

She lifted her face to the crook of his neck. “But was it enough? Out of a million, how many did we save? And all the lives lost in the North and along the Kingsroad. What’s left, Jon? Who’s left?”

He swallowed, trying not to get pulled under by the same tide of grief that was drowning her now. If they both went, who would pull them out?

“ _Us_. You. This.” He reached a hand under the cloak to touch her belly, the burgeoning swell beneath her gown. This was the root of her fears, he knew, though she tried to put on a brave face. Her pregnancy terrified her, worsened by the memory of Rhaego’s death and the maegi’s curse. He hated that bloody witch, probably more than was healthy. He’d kill her twice over if he could. “ _This_  is what’s left: the promise of life to come. That’s why we go on. That’s why we have to.”

Under the cloak, her hand grasped at his desperately, holding it to her belly. They stayed like that for a while, until she finally took a deep, bracing breath and released it. He felt her nod, her fingers tangling with his. “You’re right. I know. So many people are depending on us now, to clear the ashes and build again. I should be stronger than this. Forgive me.”

“You’re the strongest person I know, Dany. And there’s nothing to forgive,” he said, nuzzling his mouth through her hair to press a kiss there.

Her breath was uneven on his neck, a huff of bitter amusement. “Tyrion might feel differently when he reprimands me for abandoning my duties.” She released a watery sigh. “I suppose we should head back now and finish helping him and the others.” She started to pull away from him to stand, but he held her tight.

“Tyrion is more understanding than you think. He isn’t expecting you back today. I told him to delegate the rest of the cleanup to our men. First thing tomorrow, we’ll fly back to King’s Landing. For now, you should rest.”

She lifted her head, looking vexed. “Oh.” Her already pouty lips pulled down into a perturbed frown. “If our men are there, we should be, as well.”

“Tomorrow,” he coaxed. “You saved the world, Dany. I think you’re allowed a day off.”

She blew out a breath. “We.  _We_  saved the world,” she murmured, grabbing his hand again. “We did it together. All of us.”

Jon’s instructions for her care weren’t completely selfless. He worried about the strain the restoration process and the lingering trauma of the war could place on her and, consequently, their child. He would order Daenerys to stay in bed for the duration of her pregnancy, if he thought she would listen. She wouldn’t, of course, not this soon after the war. Not when their advisors thought it necessary for the survivors to see the faces of their king and queen while they rebuilt. Not when she felt as much responsible for the people of Westeros as she did for the child growing in her womb.

At least, for now, they were simply clearing the rubble in King’s Landing and removing the dead to bury them in the Dragonpit, where, later, there would follow a ceremony to honor those lost. Daenerys was of little use in that particular task.

After that, the real work would begin. Figuring out where to go from here, how to restart. They might have survived the war for the dawn but now they had to learn how to live again.

He listened to his wife’s soft, shallow breaths, willing himself to stay in the moment with her, to not let himself get lost in the horrors of the past year—and the horrors still to come. Hearing her breathe, it was enough. _This_ was enough, knowing she was alive. Knowing in about three moons’ time, she would bring their child into the world, pink and squalling and gorgeously  _alive_.

Yes. This was what they’d fought for. This was what they would continue to fight for.

Finally, he extracted himself from her embrace and stood, telling her to rest while he went to fetch her handmaidens to draw a bath.

 

 

* * *

After the women had filled a copper tub with hot water and scented it with Daenerys’ preferred oils and soaps, Jon thanked them and sent them on their way, assuring them he would assist the queen from there. She’d lazed on the bed at his instruction, snuggled beneath the cloak, while he’d lit the candles around their darkening room, the sun setting into the sea. Once they were alone again, he unlaced his wife’s gown and helped her out of her trousers and her smallclothes. As she stepped into the bath and sank under the water, he stripped down to the waist and removed his heavy boots then kneeled down next to the tub. She regarded him with disappointment.

“You won’t be joining me?”

He smiled. “I don’t think I’d fit these days,” he said, looking pointedly at her belly. With a scowl, she flicked some water at him, then shifted around in the narrow tub to lean against the foot of the tub, her head to him. Her long hair floated like a silver cloud on top of the water.

A washing cloth in hand, Jon leaned into her and snaked his arms over her shoulders to submerge the rag in the hot, fragrant water. Then he ran it over her belly and breasts, up and down her arms, scrubbing her clean of the day’s grime and, hopefully, of her worries.

With a contented sigh, Daenerys rested her head back on the lip of the tub, her cheek grazing his whiskered jaw while he washed her. Her breasts were full and heavy in his hands when he rubbed the cloth over them, her pink nipples pebbling from the mild stimulation. She shifted in the water, her thighs rubbing together restlessly, but otherwise she left him to his gentle ministrations. He was mindful of the tender scars that marred her upper body, particularly the puckered arrow wound on her shoulder that still limited her range of motion in that arm. It made him sick to see it, remembering his terror when he saw her struck by an errant arrow while on Drogon’s back high in the air, wondering if he would have to watch her plummet to her death, helpless. Wondering if he would once again lose someone he loved. The Dragon Queen, felled by a measly arrow. It the gods meant it as a joke, it was a cruel one.

But she’d survived. Thankfully, her life had been spared that day, and, subsequently, another life as well; in the immediate aftermath of her injury, a maester had determined her to be with child.

Stretching his arms down into the water, Jon placed his hands low on her belly, like a cradle. Daenerys rested her hands atop his, turning her face into his. The steam from the water filled his lungs. Gradually, as he held her in silence, he felt the tension bleed from her limbs, leaching into the water.

“We haven’t discussed names yet,” she mused.

“Aye. We’ve been a little preoccupied,” he said and felt more than saw her wry smile in response. “What do you think it’ll be? A boy or a girl?”

Daenerys hummed in thought, the sound a gentle vibration on his cheek. “A girl this time.”

_This time_. She was thinking of Rhaego, of course, the son she’d never had a chance to hold. He tightened his embrace as if he could inoculate her from more dark thoughts. “You think so?”

She nodded resolutely. “She feels different inside me. I can’t explain it.” He pondered that, his thumb stroking across her navel. It had pushed out slightly as her belly had expanded. Oddly enough, she was self-conscious of it, but he found it rather charming. It still filled him with awe every day, witnessing the changes of her body as it prepared her to give birth to his child. To their child.

When he didn’t immediately say anything, she asked, “Would you be all right with that? A girl?”

He smiled. “Aye. I’d be happy either way, but a little girl who looked just like you, with silver hair and big, purple eyes? I’d love it.”

Daenerys sat forward in his arms and twisted around to face him, water splashing up the sides. He pulled his arms out of the water to steady her by her shoulders as she curled her fingers over the lip of the tub, bringing her face close to his. “I’d rather she look like her father. With the pretty black curls and your dark, doleful eyes,” she murmured, lifting her hands to thread her wet fingers through said hair.

“ _Doleful_? You think I look sad?” he asked with feigned offense, and she leaned closer, her cheeks dimpled wickedly.

“Yes, but I know how to make you happy.” Her lips found his, her hands sliding to the back of his head to pull him into her kiss. He parted his mouth to welcome her tongue, hot and eager as it stroked against his. All the playful teasing evaporated in an instant, her hunger already stoked by his earlier attentions while cleaning her. These days, it took hardly anything at all to excite her, her body a simmering inferno ready to erupt anytime he touched her.

Groaning in the back of his throat, Jon wrapped his hand around her nape to hold her still as he plundered her mouth. Daenerys rose onto her knees and snaked her arms around his neck, forcing his head back to maintain the kiss. He slicked his hands down her back to grip her arse under the water’s surface, pulling her into him. Her breasts pillowed against his chest, dripping water on his skin. When he cupped her fleshy cheeks, she hummed in appreciation and rubbed her nipples against his chest, the hard little knots catching on the ridges of his scars.

“Why don’t we get you out of the bath?” he suggested, nibbling on her bottom lip.

With a sigh, she broke away and set her hands on his shoulders. “You’re going to have to lift me,” she told him, her eyes bright. With a hoarse chuckle, he climbed to his feet and grabbed her hands. Then he used his weight to ease her to her feet, carefully, as her balance was hindered by her pregnant belly and the bottom of the tub was slippery with oils. Once he was sure she wouldn’t fall, he released her hands. She tugged her long hair over her shoulder to wring out the excess water from the ends. When wet, the silver-gold strands turned nearly the color of metal, reminding him of Valyrian steel. Fitting—as she was just as tough, and also forged by fire and magic.

Jon took the opportunity to admire her, her creamy white skin limned by dusk and candlelight. Water sluiced down her body, between the valley of her full breasts, over the curve of her belly and down into the shock of silver at her cunt. Here, right now, she looked more a goddess than a queen. His already hard cock twitched beneath his trousers.

Restraining himself, Jon grabbed the folded towel beside the tub and shook it out for her. Daenerys stepped out of the tub and into his arms, tipping her face up for a kiss as he wrapped her in the cloth. He indulged her, languidly brushing his tongue against hers while he patted her dry. Trapped inside the towel, Daenerys wriggled her arms free to bring her hands to his face, scraping her nails through his short beard. Their kiss quickly grew hungry and keen, sharpened by their shared desire. He abandoned the towel, letting it puddle at their feet so her naked body was pressed to his.

Stooping slightly, Jon hooked his hands behind her thighs and lifted her off the ground. She held onto his shoulders and wrapped her legs around his waist, her strong thighs gripping him tightly as if she were mounting her dragon. Daenerys bit at his lips and tongue, practically purring as he shifted his hands up the back of her legs to cushion her arse.

He was blind carrying her to the bed, but it was a trek he’d made enough times, with his wife clinging to him, writhing with the need to be full of his cock. He found the bed easily, lowering her to the soft feather mattress. She stretched out as he stood to hastily unlace his breeches. He was so desperate for her, his fingers trembled, fumbling with the strings. Heavily lidded eyes of amethyst watched him as he stripped out of his pants and smallclothes. When his hard cock bobbed freely between his legs, she licked her lips and parted her thighs to welcome him, her pretty cunt all pink and slick for him.

At that wanton invite, he readily crawled between her legs. Dropping a kiss on her belly, he moved up to her breasts, kissing the stiff tips, one then the other, then he swiped his tongue over her nipple. He wet it thoroughly before he sucked it into his mouth—gently, but even with the slightest pressure, Daenerys gasped and arched, her hands threading through his hair to hold him to her bosom. In bed, she’d always loved having her breasts played with, but, lately, they’d been more tender than usual. It was a fine line between pleasure and pain, so Jon tried to be attentive yet mindful as he pleased her.

She whined, canting her hips toward him as he suckled at her breast. “ _Jon_.” He fondled her other tit with his hand, rolling the nipple under his thumb. As she bucked beneath him, wild as an unbroken mare, the head of his cock bumped against her nether lips, the soft down of her cunt already damp with her nectar. With some difficulty, he refrained from filling her just yet. Instead, he switched his mouth to her other breast and lavished it with the same attentions, sucking lightly on the pink bud.

“Oh,” she sighed, her nails cutting shallow marks into his back. Her hips slanted upward into into his cock to put pressure on her clitoris, but her belly prevented full contact. She growled in frustration, nearly making him laugh out loud. Mercifully, he angled his hips to press the root of his cock into the cradle of her cunt. With a sigh, she rubbed against him, seeking relief and immediate gratification, but he held still, tonguing her nipple until it was wet and rigid. “Jon. You’re teasing me.  _Please_.”

He scraped his teeth over her nipple before pulling away, a string of saliva snapping between. “Far be it from me to deny a begging woman what she wants.”

She huffed, narrowing her eyes at the canopy overhead. “A dragon does not beg.”

Jon smiled, his lips curving against her belly as he inched down her body “No?” He settled his weight on his arms between her legs. “Not even when…” He kissed her pelvis, where her pregnant belly sloped downward. “...I do this?” Parting her lips with his fingers, he kissed her there, tasting the pinkness of her cunt. Daenerys jerked against him and reached for his head to tug on his hair, but otherwise she didn’t make a sound.

_Stubborn woman._  Amused, Jon dipped his tongue inside her with leisurely thrusts to draw out that sticky-sweet honey. Her cunt rippled around his tongue in response, her fingers knotting around his curls. Her breath hitched as he licked at her, his tongue untiring and relentless. Only when she began to squirm with impatience did he spread her lips wider to reveal the swollen nub of her clitoris. He brought his mouth to it, triumphant when she finally let slip a sob of relief as he laved it with his tongue. Her knees came up, and she folded her thighs open wide, beckoning him closer. He hooked one forearm around her thigh, and with his other hand he slid two fingers into her silky channel. As he sucked her clitoris between his lips, her cunt gripped his fingers greedily.

Daenerys moaned, pulling on his hair to the point of pain. “ _Sek! Alihk! Ȳdra daor keligon!_ ”

_Yes. More. Don’t stop._ She had a tendency to slip in and out of foreign tongues in the throes of pleasure, as he’d quickly discovered on that fated sail to White Harbor. The fact that he’d learned as much High Valyrian and Dothraki as he had was purely owed to how often they spent together in bed.

At her request, he slipped a third finger inside her, earning a deep-throated groan of gratitude. He couldn’t see her over the small hill of her belly, but he could picture the contortions of her face, the flush of her cheeks, the furrow of her brow as she gasped and cried out for his mercy. Her arousal soaked his fingers with every stroke inside her and with every lashing of his tongue on her clitoris. He felt the uncontrollable tremors in her inner thighs start and knew she was close.

“ _Sek! Jon!_ ” Daenerys cried and bowed off the bed, her thighs snapping closed around his head. He forced them open and out, pinning her down as he withdrew his fingers from her cunt and wedged his hands against her knees. As she twitched and writhed through the powerful contractions of her release, Jon lapped at her cunt, swallowing the pungent sweetness that seeped from her, teasing her clitoris and sending her into fits all over again until she’d been wrung of every twitch and quiver of pleasure.

When he was sure she was done, Jon rose to his knees and hunched over her, reaching up to grab a pillow beyond her head. He set it down beside her and fluffed it with a few punches, wiping his beard of her musky liqueur.

“Turn over, my love,” he prodded, his voice deep and gruff, serrated by his own need for her. She didn’t immediately oblige. Instead, she cupped his face and brought him down for a messy kiss. He let his mouth go lax, allowing her to taste her own cunt on his tongue as she stretched a hand down to grab his cock. Heady with lust, he grunted into the kiss, his cock swelling more with her tight-fisted strokes from root to tip. She licked and sucked at his lips until she was satisfied, licking her own lips like an impish cat. Then she released his cock and rolled onto her stomach, adjusting the pillow beneath her until her belly and hips were buttressed.

With the soft swells of her arse presented to him, he curved a hand over her cheek, giving it a squeeze before he spread her thighs, holding them open with his own as he kneeled between. Cock in hand, Jon gave himself a few indulgent strokes then guided himself into her. Her soft, wet cunt gave way, enveloping him as he pushed inside her. Daenerys gasped and arched back, pressing her face into the sleeping furs of their bed. He worked himself inside her snug channel until his pelvis was finally flush with her arse.

“Gods, Dany,” he groaned, gripping her pillowy cheeks to hold her steady as he thrust in and out of her. She pushed back to meet him, grunting every time his cock parted her folds and kissed the back of her womb. He moved slowly to start, knowing she would signal to him when she wanted more, when she wanted it faster. In the meantime, he curled around her back, careful to keep his weight off her as he slid a hand between her and the bed. Cupping her tit in his palm, he pinched the nipple between his fingers and kissed a line down her neck to her shoulder blades.

“Jon,” she whimpered, wiggling underneath him, her knees sliding out as she thrust her arse back against his hips with more urgency. He smiled, even as a savagery gripped him by the balls, urging him to fuck her harder. Wedging a hand under her hips, he maneuvered around her belly to reach her clitoris. Merely grazing it caused her to rear wildly underneath him, so Jon stroked it idly, getting her nice and wet to take the brutal pounding of his cock.

“ _Anha need anna. Tepagon ziry naejot nyke,_ ” she gasped, desperation tinging her pleas.

“Aye, you’ll get it,” he rasped, already breathing hard in his anticipation. With that promise, he sat back on his haunches and grabbed her arse, spreading her cheeks so he could watch from behind as his cock plundered her pink cunt deep and fast. With the first hard thrust, she cried out in surprise, bracing herself on the bed. As he moved inside her, Jon grunted and panted, skin quickly growing damp with perspiration, heart thundering in his rib cage. Their flesh slapped together loudly, her arse taking the brunt of his thrusts, the wet sounds of his cock moving inside her cunt making his gut coil tightly with an animal depravity he didn’t fully understand, an awareness he only felt when on the battlefield or deep in her cunt.

His balls pulled in tight, a warning flush igniting his body. With a snarling groan, he roughly stroked into her once, twice, thrice more, before he finally came, emptying his seed inside her. Through the haze of his release, he bent over her and reached down between her thighs to find her clitoris again, pressing and rubbing it until she, too, began to shake. Her cunt squeezed around his cock as she peaked, and he shuddered all over again, feeling her milk the last of his seed from him. Daenerys muffled her pleased sounds into the bed, her face hidden in the furs.

Sated, Jon pulled out to lay down beside her, rolling her into the crook of his arm so her back was flat against his chest. Her skin was slick and dewy with sweat, her wet, silver hair sticking to her neck and jaw. He pressed his nose at the back of her head and finger-combed the locks away from her face. Daenerys breathed in deeply then grabbed his hand to kiss his palm before she pulled his arm over her. She’d want to get up soon to rinse the stickiness of their lovemaking from her inner thighs, he knew. For now, he held her, legs tucked against hers, and rested his hand on her belly, listening to her ragged breaths. His eyes grew heavy with peace and sleep.

“Jon,” she whispered. He hummed in question, gently stroking her belly. “Thank you for coming to find me.”

He blinked his eyes open and pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder. “Always,” he swore without hesitation. “I’ll always find you, Dany.”

**Author's Note:**

>  _Anha need anna_ = I need it, in Dothraki  
>  _Tepagon ziry naejot nyke_ = Give it to me, in Valyrian


End file.
